Break Me
by SeventhReboot
Summary: Harry liked having pretty green nails and high heels that made his legs look magnificent. He liked to stain his lips with ruby red and wrap his neck with that cute scarf that made his eyes pop, go out as soon as the Dursleys fell in bed, and walk one foot before the other to the strip mall. But what Harry liked above all? Power. (SLASH LVHP, Crossdresser!Ravenclaw!Underage!Harry)
1. Chapter 1: Royal Raspberry Ravish

**{PLEASE READ} A/N: **_**This is a wee bit of a divergent from canon. Since this is a bit of an AU, I used my creative license to make the Hogwarts letters remain unseen by Harry until our dearest Professors show up at Little Whinging. I am American, by the way, so please excuse my American terminology for things outside of dialogue (I don't have the drive to fix it… bleh). Any questions can be commented or PMed to my inbox, and I'll answer them as quickly as possible. So without further ado, enjoy!**_

_Ships: __**LV/HP main, **__HP/Multi (non-descriptive) flings_

_Summary: _Harry liked having pretty green nails and high heels that made his legs look magnificent. He liked to stain his lips with ruby red and wrap his neck with that pretty scarf that made his eyes pop, go out as soon as the Dursleys fell in bed, and walk one foot before the other to the mall. But what Harry liked above all of that? The feeling of being spread on silk sheets and not being able to recall his own name.

_Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Humor_

_Rating: Mature/Explicit (Rated NC-17, kiddos. I know you read these. I won't tell you you can't, because you won't listen whatsoever.)_

_Tags/Warnings:__** Slash, Underage, Child Abuse, Rape/Non-Con, possible Suicidal Thoughts, possible Self-Harm, possible Eating Disorders, Slut!Harry, Crossdressing, **__Age Difference, does that even need to be said?, Harry needs to be protected at all costs, he totally doesn't have a defense mechanism, don't worry Harry it all gets better soon_

**-Chapter One: Royal Raspberry Ravish, #89-**

The first time Harry realized he really was different from the other kids was when he was nine.

At the Dursleys, there were many unspoken and spoken rules. Don't go into Petunia and Vernon's room (as if Harry would step foot in that perfume-soaked mess), don't go near Dudley when he's watching his favorite program, don't ask for food when you don't deserve it (which was always, apparently, being why he never asked anymore), and _never, _under _any circumstances, _do anything freakish.

Now, "freakish" was quite an obscure term. It could be anything from making friends in primary, which Harry thought was the stupidest rule ever because Amy was really nice, to making friends with snakes (Hah! Take that Dudders! Now you can't chase them off!). But the most treacherous of all was being himself.

Nail polish, fancy clothes, jewelry, doing his hair, all of that was a part of him. It came as naturally as Dudley's excessive eating and Vernon's face getting all purple when he was mad.

Harry liked having pretty green nails and high heels that made his legs look _magnificent_. Harry liked wearing his barely-there leather pants and pretending he was a teenager (which, to his surprise, many genuinely believed when he went out at night to show off). He liked to stain his lips with ruby red and wrap his neck with that pretty scarf that made his eyes _pop_, go out as soon as the Dursleys fell in bed, and walk one foot before the other to the mall. There, he'd use the money he stole from Dudley when he cleaned house to buy himself something nice from Sephora, and make it home after flirting with some boys (and a few select girls), all before midnight.

His relatives never questioned where he got his things, and he was glad for that. They just assumed he stole them from some store and slipped out using his "freakishness". He embraced that, even encouraged it. Harry could only _imagine_ how Dudley would react to having the money he stole from other children taken away, Robin Hood-style.

However, all of that changed when Harry attended his first day of school in September of 1989.

_He knew Dudley had spread rumors about him since the beginning of summer break, been forcing the others to alienate him because he was a "pouf" (he was a firm bisexual, thank you) and a "freak". But he didn't believe even the teachers would be so... Intolerant, let alone his lab partner, who he was proud to say he was almost-friends with. _

_"Hello, Miss Harvey," Harry greeted quietly, sending a tiny smile towards her scowl. He had no idea why she was so terribly negative today, since sending all those bad vibes was making the whole room tense, but he didn't question it and decided to wait until more information was revealed. _

_As he sat down, he felt burning stares against his back, seeping into every pore with disdain. What'd he do? Oh, these damn jeans didn't look good with his shoes, huh? He knew he should have worn the shorts! Was-_

_"Hey, __**fairy**__, where's your boyfriend? I bet you like him a __**loooooot**__." A girl behind Harry hissed, snickering with the others._

_"Yeah, you __**fag**__, get outta here! Go see him! Play hooky to hold your boyfriend's hand!"_

_"Hah! __**Pouf!**__"_

_"__**Fairy boy! Fairy boy! Fairy boy!**__" They chanted cruelly, laughing at him and pointing while he stared down at his desk in shame, perfectly manicured nails digging into his palms and the sharp sweep of eyeliner blurring in the corners of his eyes from unshed tears. _

_"It-It isn't nice to point!" He tried to retort, resorting in an even thicker flurry of laughter. _

_"Shut up!" Harry screamed and covered his ears. _

_He glanced helplessly at Miss Harvey, who was conveniently busy with paperwork and had a barely-concealed smirk on her face. _

_He hated her now. She used to be his favorite teacher. She used to help him when Dudley hurt him, when he was teased, or when his books were taken from the other kids. But apparently, nine was when you grew up, since she didn't help him like she used to. _

And so Harry did.

After that incident, Harry persuaded the Dursleys to "homeschool" him. His pride was surely bruised, but with the added hint that Vernon could hit him wherever he wanted instead of just his back and chest, as well as cooking all their lunches, Harry was golden. Or black and blue. Whatever. It was worth it to get out of that school, he thought. He was very, very wrong.

As he didn't have to attend school or do homework, Harry had plenty of free time on his hands. Apparently, so did Vernon. When Vernon wasn't at work, he'd return to Harry, and the sight of the "freak" pissed the oaf off for reasons Harry wasn't sure.

It started off as a few slaps on his face, or staring at Harry a bit too long. The beatings got worse. And then he had to do... Things, for his Uncle. Vernon would tell Harry to strip, and he'd just stand there, gazing intensely at Harry and making the black-haired boy uncomfortable. Soon, it evolved to touches, a caress on his spine followed by a hard punch in the gut, or a rough grab at his arse with a kick to the back of his knee to compensate.

Then it got _bad. _

_"It's your fault, you freak! If you weren't so damn ungrateful, I wouldn't have to work so much! Petunia would be happy! But you just had to fucking show up at our door, get your parents killed!" Vernon snarled into Harry's ear. Harry squirmed under Vernon's weight but to no avail, his runty body too small for as much as a twitch. _

_Harry wanted to scream for help, but his mouth was covered with packing tape. And so he settled for mute tears pouring down his slowly hollowing cheeks._

_He was flipped over onto his back. He was forced to stare at the fat, lumpy mass of lard that made up his relative's body, and then the sausage-like cock being set free from Vernon's work pants. _

_He had to watch every excruciating moment of something he would never forget, not for a second; it was what would haunt his dreams for years. _

_A thick hand was spat on and rubbed on a cock almost as an afterthought. Vernon shoving into Harry's body like a sledgehammer. Something tore. Harry stared up at the ceiling of his tiny, dirty room, and tried to focus on anything, __**anything **__other than this, but all he could process was the feeling of self-hatred and shame and being called a "stupid, worthless little whore" like it was his legal title. _

_Something filled him, hot and revolting, and he didn't feel like he'd be clean again. _

Harry snorted. He was right. He still felt dirty from that night, and all the nights after it. Even when he caked his face with his finest makeup and wore his most expensive clothes, he felt like a whore.

Perhaps he was one, really. It explained why he wanted to flirt with all of those boys, even now, when he was just past eleven years. Eleven years of existing, as of two days ago. What a joke.

He waited until there was loud snoring upstairs, and used a trick he had learned shortly after he and his Uncle's "sessions" to focus on the many latches of his bedroom door. A formality for the social worker, really - if she wasn't visiting every few weeks, he'd still be in the cupboard like he was when he started kindergarten.

When he got outside, he made sure his short shorts were low enough on his hips, but high enough for a mystery beneath. He checked his half shirt for any stains (something else he could make disappear with his so-called "freakishness"), and applied one more layer of Royal Raspberry Ravish to his lips before he stepped outside.

* * *

The wind was chilly on his bare feet and legs, but when he put on his stilettos, he was a new boy.

He wasn't Harry Potter, burden to his caretakers and whore, but the hot teenage boy that nobody had the balls to approach.

"What can I get ya', James?" Kyle asked when Harry sat at his bar, legs crossed. Harry had to admit that Scottish accent was pretty damn sexy.

"Let's see..." The assumed teen confirmed. "I'll have a virgin strawberry daiquiri, and you, if you'll take me." Harry winked.

To his surprise, Kyle blushed. Usually his advances were accepted with a good-natured 'no, thanks', but there was something different about tonight.

"Eh? What's that I see?" Harry pushed teasingly. "Did I do something with my hair?"

"No, ye' look perfect, as always," Kyle said, his features covered by his big, calloused hands (dammit Harry! Stop staring at them!). Suddenly, the redhead tore his hands from his face, and set them purposefully on the club's glass countertop. "Ah, to 'ell with it."

Kyle grabbed Harry's face and shoved it towards his own.

_My first kiss. _

Harry didn't care about any of that "special first kiss" nonsense. He was aware most of his firsts had been already taken. But this kiss... It was special, to him. Not in a way that Harry ever loved Kyle, not like that, but he was quite a handsome fellow, and Harry had always imagined what that shallow stubble would feel like against his cheek. Or his thighs.

But as fast as it happened, it ended, and Kyle leaped back with regret staining his features. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't 'ave done tha' - I'll go. Sam, take over tonight, yeah, lad?" Kyle rushed to grab his keys and his things, leaving his nametag on the back counter and rushing through the employee exit.

_That bastard really thinks he can just storm off after giving me the best kiss of my life?! I don't think so._

Harry climbed off the stool and ran as fast as hot pink stiletto heels would allow through the employee exit. "Kyle! Don't you _dare _drive off on me!" Something wet dropped onto Harry's nose. Oh shit... rain. Just what he needed.

"Goddammit, you hot Scottish piece of arse! Get those bloody keys out of the ignition before I do it myself!"

Harry yanked open the driver's side open, revealing the ginger in all his glory, staring blankly ahead in defeat.

"What in the _hell _possessed you to run off like that?" Harry asked, softer this time, fixing his eyes on Kyle's pretty chocolate pair.

"I don' know 'ow old ye are, if ye even wanted me ta do tha', or anything more than tha'-"

Harry, in a rare moment of courage, leant down and kissed him, lust invading both of their senses like a virus. "You want me to prove I want you? Alright, can do." He sat on Kyle's lap, legs on either side of the bartender, and his left high heel slipped onto the old Cadillac's floor.

On instinct (and from what Harry had seen from people at the park) he kissed Kyle roughly and ran his fingers through the scruffy copper locks. His kisses lead down Kyle's jaw and jugular, and then the man's neck, where Harry left a barely-there hickey. At the throaty groan he earned, he reached a hand down to unzip Kyle's pants and palmed the hardening erection through his boxers.

Harry knew what he was getting into. He'd seen enough from when he ventured into the back of certain stores, as well as heard enough from the meager amount of male prostitutes on the corner to know how and what was to happen. And so in the huskiest, most desperate keening voice he could muster, he said in Kyle's ear,

"_Fuck me._"

* * *

Harry woke up with his pants off and leaning back against a leather steering wheel. He groaned, his mouth tasting like something rotted and died, and he bet he would look a mess when he stood in front of a mirror. Dried come was splashed between his thighs and in his arse, hair messier than usual (a feat in itself, really), and one of his shoes was in the back seat. The man beneath him was out cold and was not nearly as rumpled as Harry himself, but still looked like he had a nice fuck the night before, and that was pretty hot in the first place to Harry.

Yet, he knew he couldn't stay. He got up slowly, as not to wake the man, and grabbed his clothes. He hoped nobody was outside in the parking lot and clambered out of the vehicle, naked from the waist down. As soon as he stood, he had to grab the Cadillac's hood to keep from falling; his arse _hurt. _He braced himself, and let go, pulling on his pants.

_At least I didn't wear underwear._

Taking one last glance at Kyle, the black-haired boy walked off, his pink heels hooked on his fingers and barefoot on the cold, damp cement.

Harry passed people walking their dogs, teenagers with coffee in their hand and fast food uniforms on, elderly folk feeding birds. They looked at him strangely, many with a look of disgust on thier face as they stared at his hickeys and mussed hair, and Harry knew what they were thinking from just that.

"**Whore!"**

"**Slut!"**

He couldn't bring himself to care, though. It wasn't like he hadn't been called that before.

He approached Number 4, Privet Drive with silent indifference. He knew Vernon wasn't home, which he was extremely grateful for, but there was somebody else there. He could feel it. They were obviously _not _Dudley or Petunia, nor any of Dudley's gang. He focused on their aura, or maybe aura_s, _and tried to identify them, but they were unfamiliar. Not just any other person on the street, but… different.

It scared him, because it reminded Harry of his own.

He cracked open the door.

Standing in the entrance, he saw a stern woman with gray hair in a bun, wearing some formal dress-thing. Why was she here?

_Oh, shit. Don't tell me she's from the Government. Fuck. If she sees me, she'll know __**exactly **__what went on last night._

"Miss Dursley, I _demand _to speak to-" The old woman said, cut off by Petunia's shreik.

"There he is!" Petunia screamed, pointing her bony finger at Harry accusationally, it trembling slightly. "There's the boy!"

Harry's eyes widened and he froze. His shoes fell from his hand in a heap on the floor. "Pl-Please don't take me to a foster home." He whimpered.

"Foster home? Harry, that's preposterous…" The woman said. "What in the name of Merlin are you _wearing?!"_

"Whatever I _like _wearing!" Harry's temper fumed, but he quickly reigned it in. "I, er, apologize for that."

The woman coughed into her fist. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I am a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Surely you have received your letter?"

Harry shook his head, confused. "Wizardry? Sorry, I don't follow."

"I'm going to incinerate that Dursley…" Minerva grumbled under her breath. She sent a death glare to Petunia. "Of course they didn't tell you. Has anything strange ever happened to you? Say, when you're angry, or scared?"

"That's magic?" Harry concluded. He heard the word from hushed tones by the Dursleys when they believed he wasn't listening in. They called it the 'M' word, but one time Petunia let it slip. She treated it like a swear word.

"Yes, it is…" She confirmed. "Usually children are more shocked."

He shrugged. "Strange things happen to me. And I never really thought that appearing on the school roof was normal - there had to be a logical answer to it."

"Very good, Harry," McGonagall said, ignoring Petunia, who was squawking about "freaks needing out of her house". "Be quiet, you scarecrow! Now, Mr. Potter, allow me to tell you about Hogwarts."

* * *

Harry couldn't believe his eyes when bricks moved from a wall. And he was further bewildered by the place called Diagon Alley. Ha-ha. _Diagonally. _What was so important off in a diagonal direction that indicated that label?

His emerald eyes sparkled when he saw the massive bookstore in all its glory. He'd never seen so many in one place! Even at school, the library didn't have such a diverse selection, and at the Dursleys the only books were Dudley's comic books and a discarded Atlas (which Harry had memorized by now).

McGonagall sighed defeatedly and waited for Harry to get tuckered out as he flew from shelf to shelf, picking out book after book like a child's favorite candy. While she waited, she gathered his required textbooks and brought them to the counter - the man there was practically salivating and the business he was to receive.

Forty-five minutes later, Harry returned with a couple stacks of books behind him, carried by three boys, who's faces were obscured by the immense number of texts.

"Thanks, boys," Harry said flirtatiously to the three.

Minerva was appalled when the three children sat the books down, revealing the faces of _Draco Malfoy, _of all people, and his two lackeys.

Draco's face was flushed at the tone, and he mumbled a "no problem".

"You going to Hogwarts?" Harry asked the blond boy, who nodded fervently. He eyed Draco's robes, and saw the crest with an 'M' etched into it with interest. "I'm sure we can meet on the train; what's your name, Mr. M?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." For a moment, Draco's narcissism slipped through, but was retracted when he saw Harry's face again. "Yours?"

"Potter. Harry Potter." Draco's jaw hit the floor.

Minerva thought best if she interrupted now, hoping to keep shopping for supplies. "Mr. Potter, if you would check out your things."

"Oh! Sorry, I nearly forgot. I was too distracted by that pretty thing over there, won't happen again." Harry pointedly ignored Draco's reddening face and waited until all of his books had been paid for.

McGonagall caught a glimpse of books on all subjects, but the overwhelming majority consisted of beauty glamours and other books to alter appearance. One of them was extremely alarming - a text on how to give the illusion of another age, older or younger. But she kept her mouth shut, because damn if she couldn't humor the poor child for a while.

At Ollivander's, the strange old man was ecstatic when Harry arrived. _He _had given him the wand he 'knew' would be Harry's, considering the holly and phoenix core was Voldemort's brother wand. But when the eleven year old sauntered inside, Ollivander saw how different Harry was from how he was anticipated to be.

He could see Harry's personality was far from the martyr type, unlike _His _hopes. Harry was manipulative, cunning, and so thoroughly unlike his parents it shocked him. However, Ollivander was excited to see what wand Harry would end up with. He knew it would be quite a unique wand... A darker core, no doubt.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. I've been expecting you," Ollivander said. "Come, show me your wand arm." Harry seemed to understand that 'wand arm' meant primary arm, and set to measuring.

Harry tried many different wands, first being the holly and Phoenix wand (just to be sure). He then swished a unicorn core wand, a birch and dragon scale core wand, and even a swishy wand with a veela hair core (quite a rare core if Ollivander said so himself), all of which turning out to be too weak for his powerful magical core, just as the wand maker anticipated.

When Ollivander initially fetched the holly and Phoenix, he looked prepared. _Too _prepared, in Harry's eyes. Who was orchestrating this? Ollivander surely didn't - the man seemed too satisfied when the wand didn't work for Harry. So who? Who had all of this planned out?

"Mr. Potter, I may need to collect one or two more... Unique wands from the back. One moment."

Ollivander returned in five minutes time with a smile threatening to slip into his face. "Try this; thirteen and a half inches, dementor essence core and yew wood." _Perfect for a powerful Dark wizard's core. I remember when Mr. Riddle tried this very wand._

Confirming Ollivander's suspicions, the wand flared to life, sending large sparks of blue and silver throughout the room and turning the man's hair lavender.

"Oh. My. God. That is _so cool!"_ Harry gushed. He could only begin to think of the possibilities to which his wand would reach. Little did he know Ollivander was imagining the same thing.

_There are great things ahead for you, Mr. Potter. Hopefully, you will learn to live up to them._


	2. Chapter 2: Make Me Yours

**-Chapter Two: Make Me Yours, #344-**

Ugh.

Harry could _not, _for the absolute _life _of him, find the right outfit.

Usually, he would just pull on whatever (considering he always looked good), but today was special. He was going to go back to school! And he won't be near Dudley.

Yesterday, Harry was very much troubled over the fact that the kids at Hogwarts might act the same as the Muggles at his old school did. He was _mortified _to ask Minerva about their opinions, including her own, about the topic of sexuality but she gave him an answer that made his mood go from zero to one-hundred in _seconds._

"_Mr. Potter, Wizards are much more tolerant than Muggles. The only Witches and Wizards against homosexuality are the Muggleborn who haven't quite adapted to our ways… Muggleborn children like that are very rare, though, and most are not nearly as close-minded. No, there is no prejudice over such things; blood purity, however, is a whole other subject…"_

She went on to explain the Pureblood, Halfblood (like himself), and Muggleborn. She spoke about Voldemort (a name she would only speak once, and shivered in fear over - really, how _cowardly_ to quiver over a name, especially for the head of Gryffindor House!) and his policies (which Harry had to admit she sounded quite bias towards despite her fair demeanor), and Death Eaters.

She was much more informative than any book on blood purity and wizarding customs, but Harry vowed to find a reliable source on Voldemort's ideals before he made any decision. A real-life Death Eater would do the job perfectly - only one of the Inner Circle or elite, though. Who knows how those low position hooligans think now that the Dark Lord's been vanquished?

No, not killed, _vanquished. _As in defeated in battle. Harry couldn't possibly believe that a wizard that powerful would be killed by _him, _especially as a baby. Matter of fact, _nobody _could be (Not even those weak motherfuckers who fought Harry for his favorite eyeliner during Christmas sales, fights that he, a newly _eleven year-old boy _won).

He decided to wear his absolute above-all favorite top, his most loved and precious set of lacy underwear, with the prettiest blue garters attached to them. It was for him, today; a boost of confidence for himself, and when the silk would rub against him as he walked he'd constantly be reminded of it. Well, it _could _be for someone else… but Harry doubted that. Minnie (as he'd affectionately nicknamed her) may or may not have implied that most of the students besides the Muggleborn at Hogwarts were a bit prudish until marriage. What a bummer.

...But they couldn't _all _be against it, right? Or, he could snag a professor, if they looked at least a six out of ten, minimum…

Whatever. He could think about that later. He needed to get on that train.

Harry pulled on some clothes, re-shrunk his trunk (nobody was going to look through it, not on his watch! He had some… things in there that needed to stay hidden), and stepped out of the King's Cross public restroom.

He hurried to the area between Platforms Nine and Ten and waited for a wizarding family to show up. He had to play the part as "scared, bewildered Harry Potter", new to the Wizarding world and needing emotional support. Who would help a confident boy who looked like a third year? Nobody. Everybody, however, would help a confused ickle firstie.

Harry spotted a large family of redheads nearing, bickering and laughing at one another's expense (especially at the youngest boy) and being scolded by their mother - Oh, hot damn, Harry finally found a use for that Wizarding saying Minnie taught him.

_Merlin_ _help him, _those were some damn fine twins. The only other boy who looked older was a snobby-looking boy, not even a six in his book, but those _twins._

He felt their auras - mischievous, fierce, and quite devilish. Daring. They could possibly go for Harry.

But now, he had to wait. Bid his time, until it was the right moment to strike. Just like what the snakes in the shed at Number Four said. Hunting for meat applied to hunting for boys, right?

He was getting off track.

"H-Hello?" Harry put on his best 'I need some tender love and kisses from a surrogate mother' face. "Would you perhaps know the way to Platform Nine and Three Quarters? I asked around, but nobody seems to have heard of it."

The mother of the family looked at him with warmth in her eyes. Her aura felt of kindness and something Harry never knew how to pick out, something orange-yellow that he always saw in a good mum. "Of course, dear. Just follow Fred and George," The mother pointed to each one respectively, "-the twins, and you'll be right as rain." She smiled.

"_Mum, _I'm Fred,"

"And _I'm _George."

The two grinned, and Harry thought of multiple scenarios where that in-sync ability could come in handy, involving a bed, or a desk, or a kitchen counter.

"Hey, there!" The smallest boy greeted with a friendly smile. Harry could see he was genuine, but he was wary of the boy. Trusting teenagers was easier than trusting adults or people his age. "My names Ron, Ron Weasley. Are you a first year, too?"

"My name's Harry. Just Harry."

"Boys, the Express leaves in five minutes - _Fred and George Weasley_, you are absolutely _not _pulling the same stunt you did last year, don't get those looks on your faces, I know that look-"

"_Yes, Mum…_"

Harry watched in mild bemusement as the twins' ideas were shattered. "Ma'am, may I ask you your name?"

Mrs. Weasley's mood returned to Mother hen mode and she turned to Harry. Harry swore she murmured _'what nice manners!' _in a strange sort of astonishment. "My name is Molly Weasley, dear."

He decided he liked Molly and her pack of ginger spawn.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express was great, in Harry's opinion. It was grand, and held this air of magicthat made him feel so _alive. _It just had really annoying people near it.

Families were everywhere, kissing their teary-eyed children away to their first year, or hugging them and their child saying 'yes, mum, dad, I'll owl'. Harry had never felt so… Sickened.

But the feeling was immediately wiped away when the train look off, and soon the Scottish highlands were all Harry could see. Well, Scottish highlands and books, that is. He speed-read through the textbooks, especially the potions and charms texts (if he could find something to make his hair shinier, or his eyes more bright, he'd cry with joy), but his eyes started to hurt after so long. Right as he was going to leap into La-La land, the place that he soon found out to actually be called his 'mindscape' from his books, he heard three identical knocks on his compartment door.

_What the hell do they want?! If it's an admirer or something, I swear I'll…_

"H-Harry." Draco greeted with pink dotting his cheeks. He was obviously trying not to let his aristocrat act slip, to be like his father (who Harry admittedly found to be another target of his desires), but failed. "Can we sit with you?"

Behind Draco stood two others - a dark skinned boy who seemed to have no interest in being there at all, and a girl who Harry could only describe as "pug-ish". Ugh, she needed to get something for those pores. And her lips-lip balm exists for a _reason. _

Harry could only nod. He wasn't sure how to act around those two, and he sure as hell wasn't interested in being manipulated like all those drunk guys at the bar almost succeeded in. And from what he'd read from Cosmopolitan, he had to make sure he did look as uncertain as he felt so he couldn't be taken advantage of.

"This is Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson. Pureblood." Draco introduced. The four of them settled into a comfortable silence while Harry thought about his plans for the day.

"Want to play Exploding Snap?" Draco asked as they all sat down. It was Harry's outrageous luck that landed him his own compartment, and the blond Pureblood sure was going to take advantage of it. Nobody else outside of his room was allowed to see him like this - carefree, that is.

"What's that?"

All three Slytherins (really, there was no need for a Sorting, it was obvious) gasped in unison at the question. "You don't know what _Exploding Snap _is? What, do you live with a herd of Hippogriffs, too?" The girl gaped.

Harry shrugged, snorting distastefully. "I lived with muggles, so close enough. Though they could also be labelled as whales."

_Ah, so that's how to get into the Pureblood heart. Insult the weak, use witty comebacks, and from what Minnie described, act a lot like the Potions Master at Hogwarts. Fitting for the Head of Slytherin House, really. _

Draco sneered. "Muggles? That filth really raised you, the heir of the _Potter _family_? _I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it Blondie, because it's the fact of the matter." Harry winked at him slyly, hoping to improve the mood by teasing Draco a bit.

Harry hated talking about the Dursleys.

Apparently, it worked, and he sighed internally in relief as Draco blushed and fiddled with his hands in his lap. This was going to be quite fun, he could tell.

* * *

"Firs' years! Firs' years, follow me!" The tall man with the beard said. Harry had never seen someone so _tall _before, it was like he wasn't even human! Which, from what Harry could pick out from his aura, seemed to be partly true, though he wasn't sure exactly how. But that wasn't what had Harry distracted. He had _huge _feet, and you know what they say about men with big feet...

Minnie talked about the houses for a little while, which Harry tuned out in favor of daydreaming, as he already knew the information from the woman herself.

Harry hadn't noticed the Sorting ceremony had begun until some girl, Hannah something, was called up and the hat yelled in its centuries-old croak, "_Hufflepuff!_"

Soon, Draco was up, and he obviously got sorted into Slytherin like expected. Harry told the nervous boy there were no doubts he would make it into the house of snakes, but it was the principle of it all.

Pansy went up. Slytherin.

"Harry Potter!" Minnie called out. Whispers erupted in the hall like he was the Queen - did they have nothing better to do than to stare at a firstie's scar, no matter the means of how it was received?

Harry calmly stepped up to the stool, murmuring, "Yay, time to get stereotyped," before the hat was set atop his head and a voice was _in his mind._

"_Impressive," _The hat said. _"Occlumency at this age? Even some Legilimency? How interesting, just like yourself, Mr. Potter… Ah, but it seems you are more a fiend then you are said to be."_

"_Oi! I'm not that bad. Dudley doesn't need the cash, anyways. It's stolen from small, defenseless children. I buy things with it that I need."_

"_Like I am not aware of that?" _The Sorting Hat seemed to snort, which was strange, because Harry was sure hats had no nose to snort with. _"Wandless magic as well? I haven't had a pupil with that talent before Hogwarts since Tom…"_

"_Tom? Lemme guess, his name is now Voldemort?"_

"_Yes, it was Tom Riddle who grew to be so powerful… Yet, you seem to be giving him a, in Muggle wording, run for his money. How did you deduce that name, Harry? I can only see flashes of memories, not full ones, you know."_

"_Well, no mother would look at her child and say, 'What a beautiful baby, how cute… I think I'll name him Voldemort.'. So I looked into it, and, well… you know the rest."_

"_Indeed. What an intelligent child, but so damaged…"_

"_Hey! I resent that!"_

Harry had taken a pout and other facial expressions during their conversation, which puzzled nearly the entire hall. Professor Sprout had a stopwatch running, and so far the time was five minutes.

"I hope he beats the record," She told Flitwick, who nodded in excitement.

"_There is no shame in admitting you have been wronged."_

"_..."_

"_Promiscuous, at this age… Such a shame… Very clever, but cunning, as well. This is becoming quite a difficult case - I must admit, Mr. Potter, that you are an enigma to me."_

"_Oh, joy." _Harry responded with a sigh. _"Could you just not choose Gryffindor or Hufflepuff? Red and Yellow are definitely __**not **__my colors."_

"_I had no doubt those were not the houses for you. You are neither extremely loyal, nor courageous enough to suit them. I suppose you could be called __**friendly…**__"_

"_You shut it, mister."_

Professor Flitwick was watching Harry and the timer intently in hopes the boy would beat the record. "Only thirty more seconds, and then the seven minutes and sixteen seconds would finally lose its place!" He whispered to his colleague excitedly.

"_I suppose I must leave it up to you, then, child. I have only asked this once before, and that was because of the same boy we spoke of before. He chose his path, one that was great, however terrible… You must choose yours, as well."_

Harry really did have to think about that for a second. What house did he wish to be in? He wanted to remain with Draco, who would definitely be a useful asset to him if he played his cards right, and perhaps even a friend if the blond wouldn't be so dim-witted in his presence in the future. Slytherin would do him well, and being around people who were like him would ease the stress of his shoulders. Not to mention his little 'talent' with the snakes, which would obviously land him some worshiping ground for others in Slytherin to grovel on, but… that would be too _easy. _No challenge at all!

And so that left Ravenclaw. Green did him better, but blues were just as well. And with others as intelligent as he? With wit that rivalled his own? It sounded like a fantasy! It would be a challenge to surpass the others, and not to mention how close the Ravens were with the Snakes. He could go down to the library and read whenever he wished, without being looked at strange.

Having to hide himself behind a mask could prove to be a pain in the future, but it wasn't _too _difficult, and the chase was always better than the capture anyways.

"_You have made a choice, I see?"_

"_I have."_

"_And what would that be?"_

"_Oh, stop with the damn games and just say it. The Gryffindors are practically wetting themselves in anticipation of me going to their house; I can't __**wait **__to see their faces when I'm sorted with the bookworms."_

"_Fine, fine. Just remember to stop by the old coot's office and talk to me sometime. I enjoy a stimulating conversation at times. Perhaps you can get me off of that dusty shelf and let me see how things have changed?"_

"_Alright, fuck! Just say it already!"_

"_What language… Fine. Better be…"_

"**Ravenclaw!"**


	3. Chapter 3: Siren in Scarlet

**-Chapter Three: Siren in Scarlet, #690-**

**A/N: I couldn't for the life of me find the Ravenclaw schedule, so I made one up. Sorry if some of the classes don't have the right houses paired for certain subjects… Whoops… ;~;**

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" Professor Flitwick demonstrated. Most of the class watched in awe or total apathy when the feather on their Charms Professor's desk rose and flew into the air; Harry was a part of the apathetic group, unfortunately.

Merlin! He thought magic school would be more... Exhilarating. No. Apparently, he's the only one who knew how to do this levitation charm before class. And they all need their wands! It's a simple _charm, _one that the Boy-Who-Lived had been doing since he was seven years old. Of course, now it was much simpler, but even then he had been able to pull lipsticks from shops when he wanted the Muggles to look away. Not to mention the fact that, even without his wand, Harry's magic was much more powerful than the entire year.

How was everybody else so... Weak? Inefficient? Inadequate to himself? Was this not supposed to be a _magic school? _Wizards and Witches were supposed to be powerful, were they not? Harry faintly could understand that, just like Muggle schools, the Wizarding World had a variety of students, ranging in intelligence and wit.

Damn, he needed a pet. He was going to go insane if his year mates were like this for the rest of his Hogwarts experience. Perhaps Minnie would be willing to accompany him once again to Diagon Alley - no, scratch that, he had to go alone. He wanted to explore the "oh-so-shady" Knockturn Alley (oh joy, more puns) and its secrets. But that wasn't something he could see until the Summer to prevent any distractions from his schoolwork, granted that he snuck out, and those months felt like quite a long time.

A feather tickled Harry's nose and he looked up, miffed slightly at the caster. "Professor? Why did you..." He trailed off. Harry didn't trust himself to not make a smart comment, something of which not being a good thing since it was still the first week of school.

"I noticed you weren't even attempting to cast the spell. Are you finding it difficult? There's no shame in that, Mr. Potter, if so." Flitwick smiled his relatively large smile, which was strange considering his tiny face.

Flitwick oddly reminded Harry of Bilbo Baggins.

_I wonder if he eats six meals a day, not counting snacks..._

"No, Professor. I just see no reason in practicing a spell I've had mastered for years." He said disinterestedly. What did the man take him for? A squib?

That seemed to perk his Professor's ear. "Oh? Do show, Mr. Potter."

Harry lazily waved his hand at the feather on his desk and made it do a few flips and twirls. And just to show off, because he may or may not be privy to attention like that, he recolored the boring white feather an electric blue. And _no, _that cough was not to hide a smirk under his hand.

It was rather difficult to make the feather loop so intricately in the air, but _oh, _when the class stared at him like he was the second coming it was too hard not to relish in his newfound admiration.

"Extraordinary! Ten points to Ravenclaw for exceptional spell casting," Flitwick blinked, watching the feather's colors fluctuate at Harry's will on the desk. "...Humor me for a mo', and explain how you can do that without a wand? I've never heard of this from anybody, you see."

But Harry knew that Flitwick _had _heard of it, about a boy named Tom Riddle.

Harry shrugged and forced his smile to not appear on his face. "I suppose as a child I applied my accidental magic to any situation I please. Turning your teacher's hair blue and apparating onto a school roof both seemed to have the same feeling, you see."

Many of the Ravenclaws nodded appraisingly. Maybe the Potter boy really _did _belong as a fellow Raven. He didn't seem to be much, not at first, with his dainty attitude and little painted nails, but he seemed to be just fitting for Ravenclaw as the rest of the house was. Maybe even more than themselves.

"That's so cool! Can you do anything else with wandless magic?" A fascinated girl to his left asked.

_Of course I can. But that's too much to reveal right now. If I showed it all at once, your expressions would be wasted. Besides, if I do too much I won't have enough magic left to be able to participate in my other classes. At least changing colors is easy._

Harry lifted up his hand, and with regained interest, changed the colors of his fingernail polish from green to blue, then a deep red, and finally purple only to return to its royal blue once more. "I like to paint them manually myself, but I can change the colors around if I'm in a rush. After all, I can't be wearing the same colors every day just to match my nails, now can I?"

* * *

"T-T-Today, w-we sh-sh-shall l-l-learn th-the d-d-d-different m-me-methods of tr-tr-treating w-w-we-werewolf b-b-bites…"

Harry visible cringed at the man's stutter. It was terrible! Quirrell sounded like a dolphin with too much sugar. How could he teach if he was such a wet leaf? Honestly, if Harry blew in Quirrell's direction, he'd probably be blow away in the breeze.

Draco leant over, snickering. "M-My name's P-P-Professor Q-Q-Q-Quirrell, an-and I-I ha-have a ph-ph-phobia of fl-fl-fl-flobberworms!" The blond said in a high, shaky voice. Neither could contain their laughter (meaning Harry pretended to be as amused as Draco was so Blondie wouldn't be put out), but their Professor didn't seem to take note of the two.

Suddenly, Harry stopped laughing, eyes shining in realization of something Draco could not place. "He's scared of something," Harry said, staring at Quirrell's turban.

It had to relate to Quirrell's anxiety, which seemed nearly always constant, except for rare moments of lucidity he had. After all, someone who had the balls to go and get "firsthand experience" couldn't have such a personality as that. No, there had to be more than just him learning on that trip. Like he was looking for something…

Or some_one_.

The Malfoy heir rolled his eyes. "Yeah, his shadow."

"No, not that," Green eyes bore intently into the suspicious turban on the man's head. "He can't be wearing that turban on his head for aesthetic, especially since the thing reeks of Dark magic… There has to be a reason," Harry pretended not to watch Quirrell (which meant pushing back his cuticles and examining his fingernails), waited until their Professor thought the same-and the boy watched in fascination as he started listening to something, and nodded his head minutely in affirmation.

Harry noted that whenever Quirrell was listening, the turban seemed to conceal… something. It pulsated a heavy, malicious aura in thick waves, and nearly suffocated Harry. The intent was clear - obey and listen, it said.

Something about that magic was familiar, and Harry knew that it wasn't from simply being magical this time.

"Did you see? There's something he's hiding on his head, has to be-"

"A skin condition?" Draco asked cheekily.

Harry gave him a look, but the amusement in his eyes said otherwise. "It can't be any Muggle technology, and I haven't read about any Wizarding devices that fit," Harry groaned internally and laid his head on the desk over his notes. "Not even a semester in and I already have a mystery to solve."

"Why do you even have to solve it?" Draco made a face. "It's not your responsibility. You could just ignore it and let Quirrell remain his quirky, creepy self."

"I dunno. I just _have to._" Harry thought it would be a waste of time to explain Quirrell's aura and the feeling he got from their Professor. This answer was simpler, and Draco just had to accept that.

Draco slipped his notes into his robes. "You're telling me sooner or later, Harry." Harry heard the hidden, 'or I'll resort to drastic measures' within the sentence and nodded. He knew Draco was neither bluffing, nor blind.

Harry sighed. If only.

* * *

Harry sauntered up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower without a word. His mind was oddly cluttered ever since he arrived at Hogwarts, and that was quite a phenomenon. The only other time his mindscape was so messy was right after the first time Uncle Vernon -

No. He wouldn't think about that. Not again. He wouldn't let himself go back _there. _To _that _time.

His dorm mates greeted him with a silent wave without looking up from their books, working on homework Harry had already completed during History of Magic. Did nobody else buy a Dicto-quill, and just let the ghost's lecture be written down automatically? All Harry had to do was highlight the actually important notes and use it in his homework. Simple, really.

Pink stilettos were taken off and set by the bed with care. Harry swished his hands in a closing motion to "lock" his curtains shut, and waved a hand over his face to remove his makeup which was, admittedly, a lot. If his roommates ever saw him without his makeup, he'd be devastated. He'd not gone out bare-faced since, well, _forever. _Imagining himself with no mascara, no eyeliner, no lipgloss, exposing each and every blemish… the feeling didn't settle right in his chest.

But no matter. He had things to do. Without another thought, he fell into his mindscape.

_He opened his "eyes" and saw the ceiling of his cupboard, dusty and chipping slightly over the years. As always, and just as it always was, it was dimly lit and should be too cramped for comfort. But not for Harry, no, for him it was the perfect size, the perfect space to cuddle into himself and relax. A safe place - by Harry's definition, what a mindscape was supposed to be._

_There were memories everywhere; in the deepest corner, nearest the area where the stairs met the floor, was a shadow that swallowed up a thick roll of clear tape, a bag of something that was obviously not powdered sugar, and a simple belt. Harry pointedly avoided the Bad Things._

_On the shelf, close to his collection of lipsticks, creams, and polishes of all kinds, was a mirror that swam with images. These images were of nearly the same particular variety, and contained what Harry could only describe as Flaw. Now, Flaw was only within that mirror and it alone, yet had more memories and shame than any other section besides the Bad Things. _

_A small handheld mirror was packed to the brim with the past, mostly of himself. There was Harry standing in front of the bathroom mirror late at night, using a washable marker to pinpoint things he didn't like, what he didn't want, to tell himself what he had to get rid of later or fix. _

_The most alarming of said memories were when Harry would drag a blade over his thighs and arms, and forcing his problems to retreat outside of the cupboard until the numbness vanished and he did it again. Or, when he'd sneak out at night and let men flirt with him and touch him to forget about it all, but never too much so Harry wouldn't lose the innocence he had left._

_The Mirror was a place that Harry couldn't bear to send to the corner of Bad Things, because they were a constant reminder of what he couldn't do again. He couldn't make himself think that he wasn't beautiful again, wasn't pretty. And so those memories remained with his favorite things, his cosmetics, because his favorite things are what kept the Mirror memories from coming back._

_He turned to his bed, a place with good memories, as that's where the precious gift of sleep resided. He saw the day he got his first pair of heels -_

_**(His own pair that were bought by his own money that were HIS all his never had something for himself before HIS shoes HISHIS thingsHIS)**_

_\- and when he went to Victoria's Secret for the first time, feeling so worth it and beautiful. That place, Bed he called it, was dreadfully little in memories, but each was cherished all the same. _

_Glancing around, Harry saw memories that were awfully disorganized. He had moments from the Bad Things within the Bed, and times from the Mirror in the Bad Things. _

_Harry heaved them all into their correct places and felt something so right envelope in his heart; it was the same feeling he had when he created his mindscape in the first place, so he knew it was right. _

_...Yet, there was a presence, one with warmth and addictive chocolate darkness. It felt like something Harry had been near ever-so recently. He sought it out, called it from the deepest crevices of the cupboard, drawing it out like a fish on a line. _

_A wraith with a humanesque form was piled from the shadows, wading through the air. It seemed to speak without creating real words, rasping out in long, harsh breaths:_

"_**Hello, little Host."**_

_It stared at Harry inquisitively, genuinely curious to finally set its eyes on Host. Host was something that it had always known, somewhere deep within itself. Apparently. Host finally gathered the power to find it, as it always knew he would._

"_**I always knew you would drag me from my hiding place. I'm strangely… relieved. You seem to be like The Others. You must be one of us, then."**_

"_The Others? And who is "us"?"_

"_**Pieces of a soul. Split after a soul is cracked, and placed… wherever, it seems. I suppose you know just the man who would be mad enough to have done so multiple times."**_

_Harry was horrified. Splitting your soul?! That sounds… Savage. To split your being into parts? Why?_

"_I suppose that only Voldemort would do such a thing… But why? Why would anybody butcher themselves? Power?"_

"_**Immortality."**_

_Immortality?_

_Harry felt strangely compelled. That sounded like a content feeling, being immortal. The thought of death had occurred to him many times, but had spurred discomfort in his heart, an uncomfortable niggling that made him paranoid for days._

_Was it painful? Worth it, for that matter?_

"_**Yes, it is painful. And worth it? You must ask one who makes a Horcrux to answer that question."**_

_Harry had so, so many more questions. He had to know. He had never come across anything within the Hogwarts library even mentioning Horcruxes; he had no doubt that Dumbledore put anything that dark within the Restricted Section, or perhaps completely vanished it from the library altogether._

"_**Shh, Host, you must sleep soon. Your questions can come in the morning. When you awake, do not be alarmed - I have a feeling that I will become much stronger during your slumber. Now, rest…"**_


	4. Chapter 4: Charmed

**-Chapter Four: Charmed, #287-**

**A.N: I need to clear up the fact that I'm in the middle of finals right now, so I might be a bit slow until they end. But then I have summer break c: more chapters for you! :D **

**...By the way, I hope I wasn't too terrible at the scene down there.**

Harry snorted awake at midnight, which he was honestly disgusted by doing, and was painfully aware of how quick his heart was beating in his chest.

Rolling over, he closed his eyes, hoping to try and sleep so he could actually get through the day without going out like a light in class. Well, considering Binn's lectures, that's a given, but in classes like Potions or Transfiguration that he actually enjoyed, that would be quite the nuisance.

12:30 passed.

1:00.

1:45.

Oh, damn it all. He wouldn't be able to get to sleep no matter what he tried. It was a given which happened nearly every day when he was at the Dursley's… why the problem only just started up again, Harry couldn't say.

He sat up, and tried to find his "sleep cure". It was the perfect opportunity to try his new one... If only he could remember where he put the damn thing.

At the bottom of his trunk, he finally located what he searched for. He called them his essentials, because that's what they were, honestly. It was an inconspicuous looking thing; only a simple black zip-up bag, nothing special to the eyes.

He unzipped the bag, and its contents spilled onto the royal blue comforter. His faithful pink vibrator, a small container of tasteless lube, a handheld mirror, and something that Harry bought only recently over owl mail (under an alias, of course), an enchanted dildo.

He couldn't wait to sample what the Wizarding World had to offer in bedroom supplies. He had thought that Muggles had it already figured out, that such things couldn't be improved after perfection was achieved, but how wrong he found himself to be after he received a pamphlet with his... other subscriptions.

After it sat in his trunk for a week, getting dusty, he finally found time to use it. And use it he would.

Quietly thanking the silencing charms that Davis kid put up for them, Harry sighed contently, palming himself through the thin lace panties he always wore to bed. Seriously, Davis was a genius.

_No need to hold back anymore. _

He wouldn't need to hush his noises, or muffle his cries, or prevent the bed from creaking. There was nothing withholding him from abusing himself in the best way possible - without another participant, that is.

Lifting his legs up, he pulled the dainty underwear over one leg, yet didn't have the effort to take it fully off and let it hang on his ankle. His legs spread practically on their own into an effortless position, exposing his hairless, half-hard cock.

Harry grazed his fingers up and down his stomach, swirling once around his belly button and finally landing on his nipple. He pinched it harshly enough that he was sure it would leave a bruise and _keened._ He did the same to the opposite nipple and groaned when the feeling went straight to his cock.

Fingernails scraped roughly over his inner thighs before finally grasping his weeping cock, tugging quick and fast. His hips bucked. His thumb sweeping over the slit, animalistic movements becoming even more frenzied. He felt himself nearly reach his orgasm when he halted, releasing his cock quickly and panting, hands twitching in want to _touch, touch, touch_.

Reaching desperately to his side, he found the small tube of lubricant. A good amount of lube was squeezed onto his fingers and traced the outer rim of his eager hole. He made a high noise when his finger slipped into him, another following quickly, slowly pumping. The fingers hooked, again and again, until they pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves that made him into a pile of goo.

He stopped before he could go too far and spread more lube onto the dildo.

"Shit," he breathed when he rubbed the toy against his arse, and mewled softly when it pressed inside, all the way to the hilt.

_Here goes..._

He said the command word.

"Go-!"

Harry howled when the dildo rammed mercilessly into him, faster than he could register. He gripped the headboard behind him like a lifeline as he shrieked in pure, unadulterated pleasure.

It thrusted so quickly it became a blur to Harry's eyes, and slammed into his prostate every other push. He screamed, his cock tightened, and his entire being arched. His toes curled, and his thighs shook.

The dildo changed its angle and again made Harry's mind blank.

"Fuck! Oh my god, oh my god, fuck me, shit - AH! - _fuck-_" He barely knew what he was saying in his delirium-filled pleasure. His body felt like it was being wound tight over a spool of thread.

He screamed and hollered and _screamed again -_

And his fingers barely had to graze his cock when he came all over his sheets and stomach, humping the air and riding out his orgasm while the toy slowed to a stop.

He laid there, panting thick clouds of hot fog into the air in front of his face. His expression went lax, and he slipped the toy out of his ass, and cleaned it with a quick _Scourgify_ before levitating it into the black bag in his trunk.

* * *

He rolled over and closed his eyes for what seemed like fiftieth time that night, even after masturbating. Twice.

Tossing and turning, Harry let out a frustrated growl. This _always _did the trick for him to sleep! Why did his stamina suddenly have to increase?!

_This. Is. Bullshit._

He had _classes _in the morning. He did _not _have the time for this! If he falls asleep in class, Snape would have his hide!

Wait. No. That was not the correct phrasing. Boner, fuck off. _Boner. NO. _This isn't the time, hormones.

Finally, Harry got up. He checked the time and saw that it was, in fact, two in the bloody morning. Perfect. He had four hours to do nothing but wank or read. Wanking was appealing, but knowing himself, that wouldn't be the end of it. Besides, a _Scourgify _couldn't solve everything.

Suddenly, Harry felt as though he was being watched. He checked the other beds, but every curtain was closed. No, there was somebody. Were they invisible…? He truly didn't know if wizards could do that or not.

He had to be going crazy.

"**That was quite the show earlier, Host."**

Harry choked on air. He barely caught his scream. Diving into his bed and shutting the curtains quickly, he whimpered and thought to himself, **"What the fuck. I'm crazy. I'm crazy. I'm crazy."**

"**I can assure you that you are not crazy, in any sense of the word. You do not remember the dream?"**

The dream? What dream? He didn't - yes, he did. He dreamed.

It came back to him right then and there. The soul fragments, The Others, and… the piece of soul that resided within himself. The very same piece of soul that had now become sentient, and apparently watched him masturbate.

Was it bad he sort of found that hot…?

"**No."**

"**Gah! Don't read my thoughts! It's… They're private, damn it!"**

"**They haven't been private for years."**

The _fuck_ did that mean?

"**Why did you surface now? When did you even get… here? **_**Why **_**are you here? How were you made? How does one even split their soul?"**

A chuckle resonated through Harry's mind, resonating off walls that he could only infer to be his "cupboard's" barriers and echoing in his mind. It was something that he decided was a bit creepy. **"Calm yourself, little Host. You are no dunce - books are a great resource."**

"**So no answers?"**

"**Not until you understand exactly what I am. Then, I may give you assistance. Knowledge is****power, and you are undoubtedly able to be powerful."**

"**Fine." **The two lapsed into silence. Harry stared at the ceiling, his mind blank.

He very much doubted that the voice would reveal itself to him if he entered his mindscape, so that was out. But there was nothing to do! He was getting bored. He could feel it.

"**So."**

"**Yes?"**

"**What's your name?"**

"**My name? That is… insignificant."**

"**Why not tell me? You kind of live in my head. I mean, in this sort of situation, I can only imagine that you and I will have to get pretty comfy together. I need to know what to call you, at least."**

"**...Marvolo. Or Tom."**

"**Call me Harry, then, Tom. But I'm sure you already knew that."**

"**That seems sufficient."**

The presence left Harry's mind, and it left an unusual, hollow feeling in its wake.

* * *

Potions was, in all honesty, Harry's favorite class. He got to listen to Snape berate the weaker members of the generation (and was extremely creative in Harry's opinion), watch the more unintelligent Hufflepuffs create untimely explosions, and learn about the art of potion making. The subject was useful, efficient, and untraceable by the Ministry of Magic.

Not to mention how sexy Snape's hands were, especially when pointing out Harry's mistakes in his potions and scrawling down demeaning remarks on essays at his desk. Harry didn't believe he would mind if he was bent over that very desk, and those insults snarled into his ear instead of written with red ink. He wouldn't care at all, actually. Quite the opposite.

He couldn't believe his luck when his staring into space session was interrupted by said Professor.

"I wonder; what could possibly be more important than his Potions class to the great Harry Potter?" Snape drawled from _not even a foot away, _it would be so _easy _to reach out and feel exactly what texture those robes had (probably silk or satin or something like his voice). "Perhaps he could tell me in detention."

Despite himself, his face tinted pink, but not of embarrassment. "N-Not particularly, Sir. I was just thinking about our assignment in Transfiguration, you see -"

"Please, spare me the excuse. Tonight at eight o'clock, Potter."

And then those robes billowed away to harass yet another student. But Harry, he wasn't focusing at all. He mechanically added ingredients, mixed at the correct intervals, bottled the glass vial and everything in between, yet his mind was stuck on the man across the room and his oh-so _delicious_ voice.

* * *

He sighed when Potions class was released, but was abruptly cut off by a snotty upperclassman.

"Oi! Potter!"

Harry turned around lazily, pausing in the middle of reapplying his lip gloss. The hallway was devoid of anybody besides himself, and three sixth year boys at the end that were blocking the end in front of him. But he knew it was just a scare tactic, a lesson learned from Dudley, and didn't react with any type of fear. He put on an innocent face and pointed mockingly at himself, lips pursed and eyes wide.

"Lil ol' me?"

"Shutting your trap would do you good in this situation, kid. We would like a few words with you is all. Is it so hard to comprehend?" The obvious leader asked condescendingly. Oh, that was the last straw. _Nobody _patronized Harry. Nobody.

His blood absolutely boiled. "Words and actions are very different, Mister." growled Harry with his teeth gritted. His gums were throbbing in pain, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to protect himself if he let his mouth run too much. Even a mildly proficient fighter like him couldn't stand against three boys five years his senior.

They stepped forward twice, and the frontman was inches away from Harry's nose. "And," He said, pausing to whisper into Harry's ear.

"...What will you do?"

Harry got flashbacks of Vernon, Dudley's lackeys, those creeps who cornered him late at night, _Vernon, _that gang who held him against the wall in the park, _VERNON -_

Something inside him _snapped._

He ripped his potion's knife from his robes and dug the blade straight through the boy's fleshy cheek, causing blood to spurt from the wound onto Harry's face and the stone-cold floor.

Standing there, he didn't react, not even when the other two boys ran away in slight terror to get help from Madam Pomfrey. Not when Tommy mentally screamed at him, **"Get out of there before you are seen, you stupid Gryffindor! Go!"**

"**Kindly **_**shut. Your. Trap. Tom.**_** Now, I don't believe you know any spells to… make a quick disappearance, would you?"**

If a voice in your head could sigh, Tom would. **"Such a foolhardy child… Fine. It's **_**Persona Evanescit. **_**Do not make it a habit to incant this often."**

"**Yeah, yeah."**

Harry disappeared with a flash of ominous purple light, and when the medi-witch turned the corner, all she saw was blood and a sixth year boy on the floor, sobbing with a knife stuck through his cheek.

He reappeared seconds later in an abandoned classroom, the dust making him cringe, only for it to be ignored as other matters preoccupied him.

_I can't believe I was so careless! _Harry scolded himself. He just couldn't _fathom_ how quickly he slipped! He had never done that, not to such a drastic degree.

"**You should take into account how much you've been concealing since you arrived at Hogwarts. Keeping your magic holed up in one place is not recommended by even the most powerful of wizards - and you are powerful indeed, which is why you must release it periodically. It will fester, and without an outlet you will go nutters."**

Harry giggled at Tom's use of a word such as "nutters".

"**What?" **Tom said indignantly.

"**You never say things like that. You call it 'uncouth'. It's just really funny, sorry. Continue."**

"**I was **_**going **_**to say, before you so rudely interrupted," **Harry had the decency to pretend to be ashamed, despite the smile creeping on his face. **"That you utilize the Chamber of Secrets for such escapades. It's found in the second floor girl's bathroom. The command word to reveal the Chamber is **_**~Open~. **_**When I was in Hogwarts, I-" **

"**You went to Hogwarts? When? Obviously not **_**now.**_** Tom, tell me! You never talk about yourself!"**

Tom didn't respond. Did Harry do something wrong? Wait… why did Tom prefer not to speak about his past? It didn't make sense to him. What could Tom have done that would push Harry away? It isn't like Harry could _hate _Tom. After all, the man lived inside his _head. _It'd be quite the accomplishment, really, to make the person whose mind you live inside hate you.

But Harry didn't push him. Tom would tell him, in time. He always did, little by little.

One day, he'd crack, just as Harry would. Eventually.

* * *

The Chamber of Secrets was quite an impressive title for a dusty basement.

Yeah, there were cool statues, and this old man's face carved at the end (Salazar Slytherin's?), but nothing… impressive. Wasn't there supposed to be some dark, scary creature down here?

Tom - a name Harry hadn't allowed himself to bring up lately - told him that this was where he could release his magic, let loose the tension of a week's efforts. That must mean there were wards that blocked Hogwarts' own magic scanning wards.

_Slytherin was a Dark Wizard, so these wards shouldn't block Dark magic, presumably._

Uhh…

What now?

Should he just start firing shit at the walls? Wait, no. That'd destroy the place. Oh! A command word!

_~Uh… Show yourself! Show! Let me see your secrets! Show me your secrets! Reveal your secrets!~_

There was a soft creaking noise, but as his last sentence in Parseltongue ended, the noise followed. It was an extension of "reveal your secrets". Okay.

What did Harry know of Slytherin? He was said to be Dark, which was a given, fond of snakes (since they were probably his only friends), and quite an egotistical man if he said so himself.

_~Er. Reveal your secrets, Greatest of the Hogwarts Quartet?~_

Goddammit. It was so _close. _Wait! Not quartet! Why did he even think of that? They weren't a frickin' _band, _for Merlin's sake.

_~Reveal your secrets, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four!~_

"Fuck. _Yes!_" Harry did a little happy dance, but froze when a _massive-ass snake just slithered out of Grandpa S's mouth._

_~Ahh, a new Master… Finally. It has been lonely since Tom left.~_

_~Master?~ _Harry mumbled, shellshocked. Found the dark, scary creature, apparently. ~And_ you know Tom, too?~_

The snake, whose name Harry did not yet know, cocked its head to the side sceptically. _~Master does not know? Very well. You have set me free from the confines of that wretched prison. As Salazar told me, whomever does so is my new Master from the day they arrive to the day they leave permanently.~_

_~A-Ah. Alright..~_

She slithered closer to him, and he backed away. _~No need to be scared, Master. I cannot hurt you. Others, however…~_

_~Let's not do that.~_

_~You are no fun, Master. Oh. May I be able to call you by name? Tom allowed me to. Will you, as well?~ _

_~I suppose you can call me Harry...?~_

_~I am Inanna, Harry.~ _

_~Ah, Inanna…~ _He tested the name on his tongue._ ~Y-You keep mentioning a "Tom"?~_ He tried to change the topic, and halt the massive serpent's psychotic mutterings about "mudbloods" and hints of murder. From the snake's voice, Harry deduced it was a "she".

_~Yes. That boy, he was my favorite, right below Salazar… Always sharing these ideas of a new Wizarding World, "reforming the system"... Especially that name that he was so fond of. It took him at least three months to create the perfect anagram. Like it was his idea alone. I helped, you know.~_

_~If I may ask, what was this name?~ _Alright, the name thing was making Harry nervous. Why would Tom need to make an alias?

_~What was it - Ah, yes. It said "I am Lord Voldemort". That's it. I must say, he was quite clever.~_

Harry fell to the floor, unconscious. He had no idea that it was Inanna nudging him into Salazar's private chambers as he was comatose, but he would.

She had not a clue of what to do with humans - not Salazar, not Tom, and definitely not his little boy, who was the youngest speaker she had had the honor to meet.

**A.N: LET ME MAKE SOMETHING CLEAR! Harry has not made the connection that Tom/Marvolo and Tom Riddle/Voldemort are the same! Harry knows that Voldemort's name was Tom, and that he found the Chamber when at Hogwarts. HIS Tom is someone he has yet to find out about!**


	5. Chapter 5: Little Baby Blues

**-Chapter Five: Little Baby Blues, #147-**

**A.N: I have summer classes at the moment and, even after they end, I will most likely be slow. As a writer, I've always been very enthusiastic to start a fic, but when I get the ball rolling I never know what to do. So if I'm taking a while to update, just know that I'm either A) thinking of what to do next, B) trying to force myself to get off of OTHER fanfiction and work on my own, or C) I had forgotten about my fic and instead began watching an abundance of Netflix/reading an unhealthy amount of fanfiction. Honestly, none of these are good excuses. I have none. Whoops.**

Detention was in ten minutes. Harry sat outside the Potions classroom, letting the distant echoes of footprints sink into his mind on replay as he waited.

Earlier that day (or night, he should say), he woke up after fainting in a rather cozy room. It wasn't too large, nor too small, but the grime around everything except the dust-repellant bed made it lose some of its charm. Though, Harry didn't mind, really. It was a nice hide-away from everything.

He supposed that it was his new "cupboard". But, Harry felt wrong calling the place that. Apparently, it was Salazar's own chambers, from what he was told by the basilisk. It was ancient, and undeserving of a demeaning name such as "The Cupboard, Part Two".

Never mind that the chamber was where _Lord Voldemort had stepped! _Not just any wizard, _the _Dark Lord! Oh, well, the basilisk (who he had yet to name) would tell him more later. But apparently, he had even slept in the very same bed Harry had!

\- Yes, she had also told him to name her, as all the others before had done (though, he thought she was quite the brat). He jokingly said he'd name her Princess, but that didn't go over well. She was pretty scary when she wished to be and told Harry to think of _proper _names - right after she hissed furiously in his direction. So he assumed that was a definite "no".

As if he'd name a magnificent beast like her something so... not terror-inducing. He needed a better word for it.

His wand lit up and _buzzed_, signaling that detention was starting. He immediately swung open the Potions classroom door to see Snape sitting at his desk and practically digging those dark eyes into Harry's soul.

_I wish he'd look at me like that more often..._

"Potter. For this detention, you'll be scrubbing up Longbottom's disaster." A pale, strong hand motioned in the direction of a fizzing, bubbling mess that was slowly melting the floor. "Take off those "shoes", or whatever you've dubbed that laughable imitation of shoes, and get going. If you don't finish within two hours, that's another detention."

"I didn't know you cared, sir." Harry winked, slipping his heels off, sighing in slight relief as he did so. As they say, beauty hurts.

"Be quiet if you know what's good for you, _Potter._" Snape - No, _Severus _said in a deathly quiet voice.

_That voice would be of much better use in his private rooms. Alone. With me, preferably. _

On the cool dungeon floor, Harry scrubbed with practiced hands, careful to not touch the substance with anything but his gloves. And, because he was feeling up to it, swung his hips to a song only he could hear.

A song that was _not _by a Muggle band (especially not one by Radiohead). As if that would happen. Yeah.

_Come on, Professor... I only need a bit of a reaction. _

God… "_Professor_"_. _That was pretty hot. Did Snape think so, too…?

He mentally groaned at Severus's nonexistent reaction. Did heeven _notice_ Harry was flirting with him? God, he had to possess an iron will! Harry had encountered many who couldn't resist looking (however, it _was _rather dark at the time, and he wasn't sure whether or not they could see him very well). How was Sir-Grumps-a-Lot over there any different? After all, Harry was told his arse _was _his best asset; there was no way could Severus ignore that.

Severus had probably realized that, without a reaction, Harry's self-esteem would plummet. And that was a blow to the young wizard's ego in itself. _Ouch._

Whatever. That man would crack like an eggeventually. Harry placed his gloved hands on the brush, one on top of the other, and slid it slowly across the floor, centimeter by centimeter. The movement was positively _sinful._

...Oh? Wait. Was that a twitch?

"Quit with your incessant movements and _work_." The professor growled from his desk. The only other evidence of any agitation at all was a slight tightening of one of _those hands_ around a feather quill.

Harry was winning. The thought made a half-smirk, half satisfied smile creep upon his face.

"Professor, I haven't the slightestwhat you are talking about."

Severus tightened his jaw and hissed, "You know _exactly _what I am talking about, Potter. Dismissed." Harry went in for the kill.

"_Professor_," Harry purred, standing and peeling of his gloves. He ignored the mess and walked around it barefoot to near his Potions Professor's desk. "Let me ask you something: Do you like it?"

That seemed to take his teacher aback. The man sent a faint look that read, _"Like what?"._

"The power trip. When your students call you just that. _Professor. _Does your heart pound in anticipation when a student's face flushes in shame?" Harry could see the guilt in Severus's eyes, but the overwhelming compliance to Harry's daring accusation was there, filling those dark eyes. "Do your hands clench when you assign a detention, waiting for the defiant look in a Gryffindor's eyes or a quiver in the Hufflepuff's lip? Do you return to your rooms at night, thinking of just _what _you can do to people with the most subtle of movements in your voice, your - "

"_Enough! _Back to your tower, you insolent child, before you get another detention. With _Filch._"

"Why don't you just give in? It isn't that difficult, sir, just let me help you - "

"Get. Out."

Harry sighed. He turned around and grabbed his heels as the dungeon door shut behind him. What was that feeling in the pit of his stomach? It wasn't sadness, it was… Shame? Dejectedness? Respect, even? He had never felt something like that. Nobody had ever told Harry "no". It was inconceivable.

_I'll just have to try harder, then. Bring it on, Sir Iron-Will. You'll bend someday. They always do._

* * *

Harry woke up once more at an ungodly hour, and found he couldn't sleep. He didn't feel up to another round of playtime like the night before, so instead pondered over names for the Basilisk. He made a list on parchment, using pink ink he ordered via owl.

_Hmm... Andromeda? Wait. No. That sounds too familiar - didn't some seventh year Hufflepuff girl's mother have that name? Okay, that's a no._

_Ambrosia - no. What am I thinking? Really, Harry?_

_How about Guinevere? Sounds pretty cool._

**"Inanna would be a fitting title for her."**

Harry gasped aloud.**"Tom! You're back!" **He said excitedly in his mind, greeting Tom and his hiding place in the corner of his cupboard.

**"What a powerful deduction."**

**"..."**

**"Are you not going to ask what the name even means?"**

**"I don't want to, only because you want me to ask so you can brag about how smart you are. I don't want to get a headache from your inflated ego."**

**"Inanna is the goddess of love and warfare, according to Sumerian mythology. Thank you for asking."**

**"Why do I even try? It's not like I can."**

**"Your efforts are futile, I must agree."**

Somehow, Harry blew a raspberry, which didn't seem to be possible when speaking to a voice in your head.

...Actually, he should revise the way he said that.

**"You should. It made you sound nutters. Maybe you could get an evaluation."**

**"Shut up."**

Even if Harry wouldn't admit it under gunpoint, he missed this. Missed him, his snark and all.

_Welcome back, Tom._

* * *

Sometimes, Harry felt terrible. He could feel terrible for himself, or for others. This was a situation that applied mostly to the second.

He had always believed he was of the sensitive sort, but those boys were _horrid _to Granger. How could they have done that? Yes, Ron could be a bit uncouth at times, but what he had said about her with his friends was _appalling. _How could those half-wits even _think _about teasing her?!

Now, don't get too ahead of yourself and think that the two were friends. Harry was merely sympathetic of the girl. She was smart, so smart it was shocking, and would go far. And being teased for it was simply wrong. Harry knew that she could be having more fun than she was currently, but she was trying to prepare for her future!

"Granger?" Harry called in a soft voice, it echoing off the solid bathroom walls. There was another sound, one of crying, and came from the only closed stall.

"Could you unlock the door, Gr - Hermione?" asked Harry against the stall door (ugh, how _disgusting, _he was taking a shower after this).

There was a click.

He slowly swung open the door, and locked it behind them. "Hey," he whispered. He knelt next to the crying girl, who was huddled in a ball on the floor next to the out-of-order toilet.

He murmured a quiet cleaning charm to clean the floor (oh god _who knows what has touched this place_) and sat next to her with a cringe. Apparently, the spell caught her attention, and he was subject to her knowledge-seeking gaze, although a teary one.

"That w-was a fourth year spell." She said with a quiver in her voice, it coming out more as a question. "I-I read about it in The Standard Book of Spells: Volume Four."

"It was," He confirmed quietly. "Would you like to learn it? I could teach you, if you want. It's a pretty simple spell."

"Could you?" Her voice was laced with hope. Harry was pleased to note she had nearly completely forgotten about the debacle earlier, despite her wavering tone. "I kn-know what the rumors say, that I'm just a bookworm, that I w-worship books or something, but I don't think they can do everything. They can't teach, for one."

"I have to agree." Harry chuckled. "Books are informative, but not a professor."

He explained the wand movement, and she recited the incantation, then separately the wand movement.

He had to smile at the look of fierce achievement in her eyes. It was infectious. "Perfect. Good job, Hermione. I think that if you practice it enough, you'll be able to master it in no time. A powerful witch like yourself shouldn't have a problem."

Her eyes lit up, and his smile grew. "You think I'm powerful?" He could see now that she had been slowly cracking under the insults from the Pureblood children about her ability. It was a wonder she had such a thick skin.

"Absolu -"

_**BOOM!**_

Harry and Hermione screamed in terror when a filthy, rancid-smelling beast smashed the toilets into dust with its club.

_WHAT IS THAT?!_

**"Merely a troll, Harry. No need to cause such a fuss."**

**"HOW ARE YOU SO CALM?!" **He shrieked in his mind while simultaneously dashing behind a structure, which was promptly blown to pieces.

**"You are fully capable of handling this. Think of it as a test. You are in much less danger than you believe." **And Tom had the _audacity _to put an eye roll in there. Git.

A fucking test. Oh, you had _got _to be kidding him.

Okay, Harry. Think. Just stop and think - Harry screamed again when a bathroom stall door slammed into the wall _inches from his face_. Alright, do _not _stop and think. Run and think, run and think, _run…_

The first spell that came to Harry's mind was _Avada Kedavra, _which was immediately scrapped by both Tom and Harry, since Harry was much too young to be able to correctly pull that off on first attempt (as well as for fear of being sent to Azkaban and getting caught, respectively).

"**Think, Harry - whoop, there goes another sink - what can you cast that is reliable, not dark, and can take down a troll?"**

"_Harry!_" Hermione screeched from where she also ran, snapping Harry from his concentration.

"Shut up! I'm trying to think here! Oh, _shit!_" He dodged yet _another _stall door (where do they all come from?).

Wait…

_Cutting curses! Thank you, second year textbook!_

"_Diffindo!_" He aimed at the troll's head, firing with precision as to make sure Hermione didn't have her own head severed, but missed and sliced off its neck. The beast flopped over to the side, dead as a doorknob and other non-living things.

No need to worry anymore… right?

"My _makeup!_" He whined as he viewed his reflection in a shard of broken glass. "My eyeliner is _ruined! _No, no, _no…_"

"Uh, Harry?" Hermione squeaked, her voice strained from across the room. "Could you kindly get this troll head off of me?"

* * *

Harry felt _the look _again. This time it was from Professor McGonagall. Before, he got it from Professor Sprout, and before that in Charms with Flitwick. He called it _the look_ because, no matter how he tried to decipher it in his head, he could never understand it.

Harry could only translate it as desire from what his memory told him - it was what Aunt Petunia and Dudley sent when Uncle Vernon left him on the floor, sobbing and bleeding. It was what the people who saw him on the street sent, was what the women on the tram sent, what the workers at Sephora sent.

Now, after seeing The Look from his Transfiguration professor, he was sure that either McGonagall was kinky as fuck, or he had misinterpreted what The Look meant. The first was highly unlikely, but he barely wanted to admit it was the latter choice; he had followed the meaning of that look for years, even on the day he walked home from Kyle with his heels in his hand.

He was ripped from his musings by a girl waving a hand in front of his face. "...Potter? Professor Snape said he needed to see you after classes today. That it was important. I suppose that would mean you would go now."

Harry wanted to grin like a fool. The Potions Master is already calling for his presence? Who knew he was so swayed? "Thank you, then."

The entire walk down consisted of Harry smiling at strange intervals, then forcing it down, like a pill too large for his throat (or other things too large to force down).

"Come in." Severus called curtly, and Harry creaked open the heavy door.

Harry closed it behind him, and within seconds was standing no more than three feet from his Professor's desk. "What do you need, _Professor?_"

"Potter, you will stop this nonsense. Do you think that, by some strange phenomenon, I'd be attracted to an adolescent?" Severus accused, sounding insulted, along with hints of an emotion Harry couldn't place. "What is your goal in flirting with a teacher twice your age? Why would an _eleven year old boy _want to seduce his teacher?"

Harry was floored. Nobody had ever done that. Ask _why_, that is. He finally settled on, "...Sir? I'm not sure what you want me to say. I'm-I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Severus had to take a moment. He took a deep, exasperated sigh, and thought meaningfully over his next actions. Start from the bottom, and climb up.

"Why do you wear cosmetics? Those shoes?"

Why did he wear them? Harry himself couldn't say. They've been with him for so long, it seemed like reflex to coat his face in the morning. He _loved_ them. They were _his. _They were what made himself look in the mirror and think, _hot damn, you look good_.

...Right?

"I... I suppose they're a part of me, sir. I haven't gone outside without them since I was nine -" Why did he say that? Wait. Don't think about that right now, Harry. Don't think about it. _Don't think don't think don't think lock the cupboard and forget about it. _

Harry's voice was cracking when he blurted out, "- Why should I even tell you, sir?"

Severus could tell the boy wasn't going to confess a thing. All the Potions Master knew was that something very, very wrong happened two or three years previous; but that just wasn't enough information, especially for a spy like himself.

"I have a meeting tonight, Potter. You will follow, and you will tell us _exactly _why."

For some reason, Severus Snape was wary of the answer they'd receive.

* * *

Harry walked a funeral march next to Severus. He could hear a garbled mess of noises that, what he assumed to be, the Potions Master berating him for dragging his heels on the floor.

"Take those off so you don't wake the whole school, Potter." Severus commanded. Harry immediately peeled off his shoes and hung them on his fingers, making the digits create a hook-like shape (a shape that Harry had become quite familiar with, especially after curfew).

"Acid Pops," was said, and the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office slid aside.

The duo was immediately "greeted" by multiple eyes, boring holes into Harry's hand (which, coincidentally, held his stilettos) and Severus' robes.

Albus started off, "My boy, why do you have Mr. Potter with you? You are aware of - "

"Albus." Severus stated with a scowl. "I have a matter that calls for more than sage advice and riddles. _Mr. Potter _has hinted something suspicious and decided to withhold information after that point."

Harry was nearly to tears, pale and shaking where he stood. He looked less like a boy and more like a ghost. "S-Sir, I don't know what you're talking about, I wasn't lying, nothing _happened _so could you just leave it _be. _Please."

The boy visibly withered under Severus' - no, it's Snape again - gaze, but the fear waned when Minerva lent down to his height.

"Harry, I know that something isn't right. Whatever it is, you will not be blamed. We will not judge you."

"I don't want to talk about it, Minnie," He swallowed when tears pooled heavily in his eyes. "Please don't make me talk about it." His voice cracked.

He wanted to tell her, to spill every bit of truth from his lips and more but he couldn't. He couldn't handle that rejection, when they found out _what_ _Vernon did. _What would they do? Would they kick him out of Hogwarts, snap his wand, punish him like Vernon himself did?

"Ah, Minerva, what if we used the Pensieve?" Dumbledore piped up from his desk. His voice was perky, but demeanor hollow. "I'm sure it would be much easier if Harry showed us in place of words, yes?"

"No!" Harry answered all too quickly. He then whimpered, "I mean, uh, I don't think - I mean. Just don't. Please."

_Bad move, Harry._

He could see the expressions of doubt on nearly every professor's face (excluding Snape's, who simply wore an even deeper scowl). He had only confirmed their suspicions. Why did he do that? For what reason did he not think about his words? Harry wanted to surrender, to just _show them _what happened, but it would be just too much at a time. He didn't want to relive that again, especially from a third party point-of-view.

He had to tell them.

But why?! Why did they back him into this corner? Why did Snape have to dig his crooked nose into everyone's business? It wasn't his concern. It was Harry's, and Harry's alone. Besides, what did they care? They were his _teachers. _Not parents. Not siblings. Not social workers. They shouldn't _care. _

"Why do you feel the need to even _know?" _Harry broke the silence with a tense, thin tone. "Did you feel obligated, _sir, _to "help" me? What compelled you to do this?! To interrogate me, like I've somehow become your property?"

"Harry, please, it isn't an interrogation. Just tell us what's wrong, we can help you -" McGonagall started.

"_Help _me? That's hilarious." Harry barked a bitter laugh. "Because you obviously can _fix _this. You don't know anything. How can you say you can help when you weren't there for years? One day, you people show up, and expect me to embrace you like long lost relatives.

"_Where were you _when I was used as my cousin's personal punching bag? Where were you when I cried myself to sleep at night, hoping for the bruises to stay by the morning so I wouldn't get hit again? Where were you when Dudley and his pack of dogs forced me outside in the snow, and my lips turned blue?" He seethed, grinding his teeth like a dog prepared to latch onto a man's flesh. "_Where the fuck were you _when Vernon forced me onto my knees and made me suck his _cock_? Huh? Tell me. Because I'd _really _like to know what was more important than a goddamn check up on my well being every once in a while."

When he was met with silence, instead of the screaming and retaliation he expected, he realized his mistake.

"Oh-Oh Merlin," Professor Sprout breathed. "I…"

They gave him _the look _again. Harry could only duck his head in shame.


	6. Chapter 6: Cadmium

**-Chapter Five: Cadmium, #46-**

**A.N: Aha! I have returned! I haven't got much headway with this story in particular, but I have completed nearly a third of Assassin's Creed IV. I apologize for being gone for so long, but I just lost interest in this story, which has hopefully been renewed, as evidenced with this chapter being posted. **

**Also, I've been listening to Vance Joy's Riptide on repeat for the past hour I've worked on this. Why do I feel like this needed to be included? Who knows.**

Harry knew he had made a mistake when the entire office's activity slowed down. The room felt heavy, and the air was thick. He wanted to crawl into a hole and hide until they forgot what he said, what he confessed to in his flurry of anger and frustration. But he knew they wouldn't do such a thing as forget it - that was the worst part.

He was only waiting for the shouts of _"Don't victimize yourself!" _and _"It's your fault this happened, so don't have us pity you. What were you wearing to provoke him? What did you say to set him off?"_.

He kept his head down, his neck tense and hands bunched at his sides into fists. He waited for the blows. And waited. And waited.

But nothing came.

"My dear, dear boy…" The Headmaster said softly. His voice was - shaking? Harry was shocked; one of the most powerful wizards alive was near _tears. _

The young wizard flinched sharply when a wrinkled hand attempted to set on his shoulder, which was quickly retracted at his reaction to the contact.

The silence was broken soon by the very same man. "Madam Pomphrey, please take Harry down to the hospital wing for an evaluation. I believe, at the moment, that it would be best if he stays there tonight."

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, I don't need an evaluation. I just want to go back to bed in my dorm. Please just leave mebe!" Harry pleaded, forcing his bottom lip to stop shaking (_don't be such a baby it's not like they need this right now)_.

Bright green and slightly watery eyes looked up for support from anybody, but nobody, not even Minnie would speak out for him.

_Traitors._

As he was ushered out of the Headmaster's office by the mediwitch's hand, Harry heard Minnie utter in a teary, broken tone just as the door closed, "You said he would be _safe _there, Albus. You _promised._"

Harry's mind went blank nearly the whole trip down to the hospital wing, flooded with anxiety. He couldn't do this. He couldn't _do this._

"Harry. Harry, dear, calm down." Madam Pomphrey was careful not to touch Harry, in fear of causing his state to worsen. "I'm bound by patient-healer confidentiality. I can't tell a soul about the exam's results unless you give me explicit permission, unless it would be a danger to your survival. I hardly believe these results could cause death."

_Okay, okay, okay. Stop being so pathetic. She's had to have seen worse before. Besides, what Vernon does to me isn't life threatening, so she can't tell anyone. If this kept going on, I wouldn't die. He was too strong for that._

He kept telling himself that.

He felt his breathing resume a semi-regular pace after a few minutes of breathing and clearing his mind. "Al-Alright," He whimpered, loathing how weak he must have sounded. "Will it hurt?"

"Not at all, dear. You'll feel a ticklish sensation for a few moments, and I'll receive all of your recent medical history - from approximately five years ago to now - on this sheet of parchment." She explained softly. It was comforting to him, that she bothered to explain everything to him, as they usually didn't because he was a child. "Whenever you say you're ready, I'll start."

"...Alright. I'm-I'm ready."

He held his breath - when a Muggle doctor would say something wouldn't hurt (or he _thought _they said this, as he'd never really been to a doctor before, and only heard of this from television that Dudley watched), it really did hurt.

However, to his relief, he had nothing to fear. Just as she said, there was a tickle that lay directly beneath his skin, like his magic was shifting and settling once again, like ocean waves rising to tide and then retracting back to the sea. _My magic's being scanned, _he realized. He wasn't exactly sure how to feel about that.

Scratch that. He knew exactly how he was feeling about that. _Terrified._

"This is simply scanning your magic - which is directly connected to your physical health, did you know that? - to check for past injuries. No need to be scared, Harry." She said soothingly.

He swore he had to have sat there for twenty minutes while the tickle skimmed his back, legs, and chest, over and over again. The feeling was making him nauseated halfway through, to be truthful. It especially seemed to run over his head and, embarrassingly enough, his arse (the feeling was also mildly arousing, to further add to his embarrassment).

When Harry heard her gasp in horror as the results finished and panned out on the parchment, he didn't want to look up from his lap in fear of getting slapped, much like how Aunt Petunia would have reacted. He could only flinch at every alarmed gasp, hoping she wouldn't do the same.

"D-Dear, I'm afraid I'm going to have to report this to Albus… I can't see you living there any longer. It isn't safe, not at all." She shook her head firmly, lips in a tight line.

His hands shook, and eyes widened in pure, unadulterated _fear. _"_No! _Don't tell him, don't say anything, _please just keep this to yourself! _What Uncle Vernon does isn't _life threatening, _I know it's not!"

She ignored his pleas and cast a spell he didn't recognize. A misty apparition of a bird appeared, which she spoke to in rushed, yet quiet tones before it flew out of the Hospital Wing. In seconds, another animal, a phoenix, appeared in front of Madam Pomphrey, and it spoke to her lowly.

"Harry…" She rose her eyes from the bird, which disappeared. "We, Albus and I, believe it would be best if you went back to your dorm and slept off today's… events. You'll be excused from classes the rest of the week. Professor Quirrell can help you catch up with your classes over the weekend." Her voice was tense, and she seemed worried - over what, he could only assume over his medical report.

He didn't hesitate to run out of the Hospital Wing. He was so, so _exhausted_, and for once in his life wanted to forget everything about Hogwarts, about Voldemort - he just wanted to relax, for the first time in his life, and not have to stress.

"**You should sleep. I'll block away the nightmares tonight, even if it's tiring for me. You need to rest your mind."**

Tom's soothing, echoing voice brought a content smile to Harry's face.

_Tom cares._

* * *

The old man sighed. This wasn't supposed to happen. He never expected to have Petunia or Vernon love Harry more than their own son, neither did he believe they would love him at all. But physical and mental, not to mention _sexual,_ abuse? It was… unfathomable. He overestimated Petunia and her husband's humanity.

The Dursleys were going to have a meeting with him soon, and it would not be with a benevolent smile.

Yet, this was the origin of Harry's predicament.

The blood wards resided there for Harry's protection from outside forces, and they only ran within the child's relatives' blood; this, in essence, left Harry without protection from his _relatives_. But if he was taken from Privet Drive, Voldemort, after the wizard's inevitable resurrection, would have him captured and killed immediately, leaving the world to become trapped in the Dark Lord's clutches. But leaving Harry there would be practically _condoning_ the rape, and possible _death_, of Harry James Potter.

So he was left with two options: Keep Harry within the confines of the home where he would face every sort of abuse, or leave the poor child as eventual prey to Lord Voldemort's claws. Both places would leave him under terrible conditions, not to mention abhorring torture, but…

Harry could not be removed from that household, no matter how much he desired so. The entire Wizarding World relied on Harry to be the Dark Lord's downfall - if captured, if _dead,_ Harry would have no chance to defeat Voldemort whatsoever. But to leave Harry with that _vile _family would be an unforgivable choice.

Albus had to come to a decision soon. This was a matter that had to be solved as soon as possible. However, the elder Wizard had no answer to this, not an answer that would leave him in good conscience.

The fate of the Wizarding World, or the weight upon his shoulders that he sentenced a young boy to _rape?_

He could hear Lily and James Potter's voices, their _wails_ of unbelievable sorrow for their much-treasured child, no matter what option he chose for Harry.

"_How could you, Albus?! You sent him back? He will __**die!**__"_

"_You… You allowed him to be sent into the clutches of __**Voldemort?**__ Albus, you're the __**worst kind of monster!**__"_

But what other choice did he have, than one? To him, the choice was obvious, despite how terrible it seemed. He knew he had to keep his emotions far away from this, though. He couldn't allow himself to be controlled by personal favoritism. If for a stranger, would he not choose the survival of the Wizarding World over a single person?

Harry wasn't a stranger, as much as he wanted to force himself to believe.

_It's for the greater good, Albus, _a voice suspiciously like Gellert's reminded him. _It's all for the greater good._

Perhaps… Perhaps Gellert would have been right, if the man was standing there as well.

* * *

Harry's eyes slowly cracked open under the blinding gaze of sunlight from his dorm windows. He wasn't sure what time it was, but no matter what, he was going back to sleep. He didn't want to talk about the Dursleys with anyone. It was inevitable, but he would avoid it until the very last moment he had.

"**You need to get up, Harry. Running from your problems will get you nowhere."**

"**I'm going to run from them whether you like it or not. Oh, hey, do you know what time it is? I'm starving."**

"**I may be sentient, but I still live in your head." **Tom answered as though the fact was obvious.

"**Well, you usually know the answer to things."**

"**I only know things because I knew them when I was alive. Which was forty eight years ago. Remember?"**

After the last time Tom disappeared, Harry felt as though the Horcrux was more open about… well, mostly everything. He didn't mind talking about his days at Hogwarts, and even told Harry a little about the orphanage (though he still withheld an uncomfortable amount of information). Tom even told Harry about what he wanted to be when he got out of Hogwarts - Undersecretary to the Minister.

_**"But why Undersecretary?"**_

_**"I can slowly and inconspicuously pull apart the disgusting system the Wizarding World has lived with for centuries."**_

_Harry shrugged. __**"Sounds hard."**_

_**"Sounds ambitious, you mean?"**_

_**"No, sounds hard."**_

Some things, such as Tom's sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts along with, something Harry found hilarious, the topic of _friends_, were forbidden without having been dubbed forbidden with words.

The two just… knew. When things weren't supposed to be talked about, when certain conversations had to end.

_It's peaceful not needing to walk on eggshells around Tom anymore_, Harry couldn't help but think. _Now, this feels truly like friendship, rather than him being stuck in my head against his will._

"**That sentence could not have been odd than it already was."**

"**Very true."**

Harry had also gotten strangely comfortable with Tom reading his thoughts, as private as they should be.

There was a knock at his dorm room door, which made Harry growl in irritation into the empty room.

"Harry?" His Head of House's tiny voice squeaked. "You must be hungry by now. It's lunch time, after all. If you need something to eat, just call a house elf. The name usually preferred is 'Tilly'. She's always been the most approachable." He chuckled in a way strangely reminiscent of Bilbo Baggins, further confirming Harry's theories of the short Wizard having Hobbit in his blood.

"**I will never understand your fascination with Muggle literature."**

"**I mean, most Muggles are pretty useless, but come on. We both know how great a writer Steven King is. Hey, if you really snagged your dream career and wrote a bunch of anti-Muggle laws, could you spare their authors? They're pretty creative. Wizarding literature is so boring."**

"**..."**

"**Fine." **Harry sighed, half-disgruntled. **"It was worth a shot, though. But if you really **_**did **_**become Undersecretary, I'd have so many ideas for you..."**

Before Tom could respond, Harry asked, **"How does one call a house elf? They don't have telephones, do they? What - Oh. Please don't say anything. I just understood, please don't rub it in my face." **"Tilly!"

_Pop. _"What can Tilly do for Harry Potter?"

Harry winced internally over house elves' excruciatingly poor grammar skills, but replaced the feeling with grudging acceptance. House elves meant well, after all. "Can I have some lunch, please? Thank you." He smiled at her politely, and heard Tom scoff, but was promptly ignored.

The small creature's eyes watered dramatically, and she smiled so wide Harry feared her face would split. "H-Harry Potter is so kind!" She popped away with a snap of her fingers, and a very large table, with a corresponding tray of food, appeared in the middle of the dorm room.

"**That's a lot of food."** Harry whispered to Tom in awe.

"**They simply love to please, Harry. They **_**literally**_** live to serve." **Tom commented petulantly with a roll of his eyes.

"**Is this about the 'please' and 'thank you'? You know, those are called manners by the general public."**

**"And by those unaware of how to display proper authority to their lessers."**

**"Authority doesn't equal being rude!"**

They bickered lightly as Harry ate, as conversing with a presence in your mind didn't require opening your mouth to speak, in contrast to talking with a physical person.

There were upsides to Tom's lack of physicality: how Harry could talk to him at any time of the day, how Tom kept Harry from feeling lonely, helping Harry from failing Snape's annoying pop quizzes over things they hadn't learned yet.

But there were the downsides as well: Tom would never be able to hug him when he was upset, or be able to play/beat him at Wizard's chess.

**"There is a way I could become physical, as you said."**

**"Really? Why didn't you say so before?" **Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning like a loon. Tom would be able to have a body? To _really_ be his friend?

**"The opportunity only just now came about. If I said it before, it would be useless and only have gotten your hopes up. And for this I'll need your help."**

**"Finally, the great and mighty Tom whatever-your-last-name-is requests help from the poor, poor beggar Harry Potter."**

Tom ignored Harry's remark. **"Do you remember the room down the third corridor Albus told you to avoid, because of 'certain death'?"**

**"Yeah - oh Merlin, please don't tell me we're going to go in there."**

**"We are. I'm fairly positive the object I'll need is located there. I've been thinking, and I believe the Philosopher's Stone is hidden in there."**

**"Ok-ay, so sneak into the creepy death room, hopefully not die, and snag the stone? Sounds absolutely perfect."**

**"It's surely not as easy as you believe, but essentially, yes. Now finish your breakfast so we can scope the area."**

**"N-Now?!" **Harry spluttered. **"I haven't even finished my yogurt cup!"**

**"You can bring it with you." **

**"No need to be so pushy, Tommy -" "**_**Don't call me that!**_**" "- it's only a stone. It won't suddenly disappear any time soon."**

**"I don't think you understand. I need this stone for a **_**body. **_**I haven't been able to feel the grass under my toes, the rush of magic through a wand and in my veins, for a **_**decade.**_**"**

_Oh. _Harry couldn't imagine being without magic for a _day, _let alone years. For a moment, he pitied Tom.

**"Of course you couldn't imagine it," **Tom remarked snottily. **"You've only had a wand for half a year."**

**"Oh, look, there's my pity for you, flying gracefully out the window."**

**"Grab your yogurt cup so we can go."**

**"Fine. Lemme get a spoon."**

* * *

Harry peeled off his shoes when reached the Ravenclaw common room, which was thankfully empty. Luckily, Ravenclaw students weren't the type to hang about the common room, and preferred their own rooms during weekdays for homework. At least, if they were more social, Harry would have had quite the complication in his plans.

He lifted up a plush blue chair and placed his shoes and outer cloak on the floor beneath it, leaving him in his shorter-than-appropriate shorts and crop top (something Tom didn't comment on).

"**Uh, what direction do we go?"**

"**Harry, what did I tell you to do before we left your room?" **Tom asked with faux-patience.

The young Wizard swiftly applied a Notice-Me-Not charm to himself. **"Okay, after that." **He sighed.

"**Reach the staircases and catch the one farthest to the left."**

Harry ran down the halls, the cold stone chilling his feet. He turned corner after corner, until he came upon the stairs, panting for breath but grinning all the same. "Farthest to the left, farthest to the left…" He muttered to himself.

"**There. That one." **Tom pointed out.

Harry finally, after an intense stair-jumping course, reached the forbidden room. He shook the doorknob and found it was locked. He easily unlocked it, using the same trick he used when he was thrown in his cupboard.

The door creaked open, and Harry's heart leaped in his throat when he saw a massive, drooling dog chained to the wall. Not to mention that it had _three heads, _and stared at him like he was dinner.

He did the only thing he could think to do: turn around and shut the door behind him.

"Nope. Nope. _Fuck _that. No way, José."

"**Harry! Just go back inside. That was a Cerberus. It will easily fall asleep if you play music or sing. Obviously, as you don't have an instrument, you will sing to it. It doesn't matter to what song."**

Harry didn't want to, he so very, very didn't want to. But he couldn't let Tom think he was too chicken to face a dog. A three-headed, terrifying hellhound, yes, but still a dog.

He took a deep breath, and opened the door again, and belted out the Alphabet Song.

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G…" He sang.

The Cerberus stopped mid-stride towards Harry, eyelids steadily drooping.

"H, I, J, K, L-M-N-O-P…"

When it fell asleep, Harry's chest was beating like the wings of a hummingbird. He ignored his heart, in favor of paying attention to the trapdoor that was revealed behind the Cerberus. As he passed the dog, he noticed each of the heads had a collar that read "Fluffy" in large metallic letters.

"**Who would name this thing Fluffy? Is that supposed to be ironic?" **Harry wondered in mild horror.

"**Most likely that oaf Hagrid. He always had a disturbing affinity for dangerous creatures."**

Harry, with some prodding, lowered himself through the chute under the trapdoor and landed in a pile of what seemed like tentacles.

_This got kinky very, very fast._

He scrambled to get out of the tentacles but they only tightened their hold on him. He was near suffocating when Tom gave him a headache by screaming, **"**_**Stop!**_** Harry, stop squirming. You know what plant this is. You learned about this in Herbology."**

His eyes widened in realization. **"This is Devil's Snare, isn't it?"**

"**Yes."**

"**O-Okay, then. Good to know. They don't like fire, right?" **He squeaked when a tentacle slithered around his forearm.

"**Correct."**

He slowly opened his hand until it was flat, and whispered, _"Incendio._" Flames began to dance on the tips of his fingers, and immediately the plant shrunk away.

The next room Harry that was led to contained flying keys. He wasn't as terrified as he was in the previous room, because he had grown used to flying objects in the Wizarding World, so he easily deduced that one of the keys would open the door to the next room.

_What do I use to even get the keys - oh, no way. Broomsticks._

He hated, loathed, _despised _broomsticks. They were easy to use for Harry, sure, but they made the lace panties he wore ride up and become his worst nightmare. He made a face when even thinking of using broomsticks, and instead just summoned the keys using _Accio._

He sighed in relief when each key flew in his direction. When he saw the one key that differed than the rest, he plucked it from the pile. "This is way too easy."

"**It is. It's also suspicious. Keep your guard up for the next room."**

He unlocked the door and entered yet another room: this time, a chessboard.

"**Tom, can you help me out here?"**

"**Why, can't handle some chess?"**

"**You know I don't know how to play!"**

"**Fine, fine. Just relax."**

_Relax?_

Harry was about to ask why, but then a shuddering heatwave swept over him, and he felt himself play the game.

"**Tom, what did you do? Tom? This is so, so weird."**

"**I'm…" **Tom panted out. **"Just playing the… game. Merlin… this is tiring… so don't think so hard."**

Harry felt bad about not being able to help, but at the same time was bewildered by the fact that Tom could control his body. How long had he been able to do this? It didn't seem to be something Tom had just figured out, either. Was this another one of the things he kept from Harry?

Tom was going to have a long talk with him when this was over.

Surprisingly, Tom didn't stop after he won the game of Wizard's chess, and proceeded to easily lead Harry's body through the next two rooms. The first room following the game was empty, to both Tom and Harry's confusion, and the second contained potions, one seemingly fatal while the other the safer solution. The correct vial was downed before Harry could protest, and then Tom receded back into his mind.

"**That… was very difficult. I did not... anticipate how strenuous it would be." **Tom seemed to finally catch his breath and continued (although Harry had no idea why he needed to take a breath, since Tom didn't breathe).** "The next room should be the last, Harry."**

"**How do you know? There could be another after it."**

"**Each one was created by the professors. Hagrid with the Cerberus, Pamona with the Devil's Snare, Filius with the keys, and so on. We're running out of professors."**

"**Thanks for making me feel like a dumbass." **Harry deadpanned, irritated.

"**You're welcome."**

Finally, they reached the last room, where a tall mirror stood in solitary in the middle of the room. A strange inscription was carved at the upper rim, seemingly in gibberish. To Harry, it was gibberish, at least.

"**This is Albus' room. It's so obvious. "I show not your face but your heart's desire." It's too sappy to be anyone else's." **Tom observed with disgust in his voice.

_How'd he get that sentence? It's just random letters… _

Tom sighed in irritation. **"It's backwards. How did you get into Ravenclaw again? I'm seriously wondering how you survived infancy."**

"**I'm having a bad day, okay?! I didn't exactly have a fun time yesterday!"**

Tom was silent.

Harry approached the mirror hesitantly, starting at the slowly forming reflection in the glass.

He saw himself, sitting lazily on a throne with people at his feet, staring at him with wide eyes of adoration. _Worshipping him. _Reflection-Harry began to pet a man's blond hair, who was leaning his head on the throne's lavish arm. _Is that Lucius Malfoy?_

The Weasley twins stood by each side of Harry, gazing at him with their pretty blue eyes. And behind him was the best of all: a shadow without much of a form, arms looped around Harry's neck possessively. _Tom._

"**This is a mirror that shows your greatest desires. The Mirror of Erised."**

"**What's it show for you, Tom?"**

"**...I can't see anything, Harry. I don't have a body at the moment, and so it doesn't recognize me."**

_He's lying._

Suddenly, Harry's pocket felt… heavy. He scrambled to pull it from his pocket. "Tom! I think I have the Stone!" he exclaimed, holding up a glittery, orange-red object that glistened with power.

"Give the stone to me, Harry."

He swiveled around and stood face-to-face with Quirrell - or, what seemed like Quirrell, but had the face of a disfigured snake.

"Who the _hell _are you?"

"Do you not recognize your best friend?"

_That voice. _It was so familiar, but sounded unreal when it was physical and _real_.

"Tom?"

Quirrell's body nodded, while the snake-like face smiled. "Good."

"Why are you in Quirrell's body? Why do..." Harry was at a loss for words. How did Tom get from Harry's head to his _Professor? _They were just talking, not even minutes ago!

"**I never left."**

"**Then how are you…?"**

"**Quirrell was holding onto another one of us - another Horcrux. He held a piece of the Others behind his turban. I'll never get over how he got by with such a conspicuous thing, but still. Give him the Stone."**

"**But -"**

"**Harry, I will explain very soon. For now, just do as I ask."**

For a second, Harry wasn't sure that he should listen to Tom. But he had never lied to Harry to cause him harm, and had never done him wrong. Why shouldn't he trust Tom this time?

"Alright." Harry whispered. He pursed his lips, and shakily held out the Stone for "Quirrell", who snatched it away greedily.

Then there was a sudden agonizing, blinding _pain, _and Harry screamed as the burning torture consumed him from the inside out, _eating him alive _while he arched on the stone tiles.

"**Tom! Make it stop! **_**Tom! TOM!**_**"**

And all at once, it left him, so peaceful and relieving that his body couldn't process it.

His eyes rolled back.


	7. Announcement

Hello! You're probably a bit peeved that the update is just a note/alert/thing, but I wanted to make sure you were informed of current events. If you don't want to read this, that's cool, but you should read the bolded parts for news about the story.

School's been taking over my life lately, so that's my new excuse for not updating. My Christmas break started a few days ago, which is why I'm able to update. I'm in the PLTW Biomedical Sciences program (BioMed). It's very time-consuming, and stresses me out sometimes. It's hard for me to write when I'm really stressed, because when I'm stressed I get exhausted, etc., etc.

But…

Here's some good news! **I'm planning to rewrite this fic; a better version, with less cliches, better character development and plot, everything I can.** I didn't think that this would receive such positive feedback - if anything, it was intended for a few laughs and "I can't look away no matter how hard I try" syndrome.

So… yeah. I'll be trying to rewrite this in between everything, hopefully. **If you have any questions, you can leave a review or just PM me (don't worry, I won't bite).** I really like getting messages from you guys, even if it's just asking me when I'll update or saying that you like everything so far. Thanks 33!


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